The House of Wolves
by Wolfy Tales
Summary: Where Derek is king and Stiles becomes his manservant. - Teen Wolf in A Game of Thrones setting. A three part AU Sterek tale.
1. The Meeting

_A beginning note: I just wanted dire wolves and to identify Stiles as Derek's manservant. Can you honestly blame me? (And yes, it's a not-so sly shout-out to the super hetero show Merlin.)_

_A Double Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or the world in which A Game of Thrones, or more accurately A Song of Fire and Ice, is set in._

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**The House of Wolves**

Part I - The Meeting

.

Stiles barely remembers the wild North when he vistited it as a boy.

He was only five or six years then, before Winter had set in, and it seemed pleasant enough. There had been pines that scratched at the sky's limit and berries as big as his fist. He heard the other Kingsguard wispering of wolves the size of horses; but those were just myths. And even if there was some semblance of truth, it was men who had learned to shift into wolves that were bigger than any steed.

That was all in the past now. Now he was a man of sixteen years, no matter what everyone else said he looked. Sure, he didn't have the defined body of Scott, or the chiseled chin of Jackson, or even the tall stature of Danny, but he was at least intellegent enough to be sixteen. If not more, by the way he silently outsmarted the King's Council. They weren't even knowledgable about how he listened in secrecy to their weekly convergances. Honestly, Stiles thought he had some duty to the city to reveal himself and offer answers they were all too blind in their game of power to see.

Or, at least they _hadn't _known, before he'd been literally ripped off the roof near the window he lied above and thrown on the table for all to see. He had at least enough energy to flail and look around; to see all the wrinkled faces looking at him in disbelief and disgust.

He should have seen this coming; the Hale family were known for their heightened senses. While the past king Peter had never bothered to come to these meetings (not like his senses would've been in tune to get Stiles; even his sense of sanity had dissipated), the newly annointed King Derek was sure young and sharp.

And of course Stiles meant sharp in his senses, not his jawline or his eyes that seemed to be glowing blue now, or even those arms and shoulders that could- well, that could carry a kingdom really. Odd to see something so rugged from a place Stiles had thought so soft from all the snow and fallen pine needles.

"Name!" One of the members barked, and Stiles jumped from his prone position to an at least half-sitting mess. A mistake, as Derek's growl reverberated throughout the room. Although, Stiles noted with a lifted eyebrow, he was growling at the man who had spoken, not Stiles himself.

"He is my only son," said a voice from behind and Stiles almost groaned out loud.

Turning, he saw his Dad out of the corner of his eye, garbed in his traditional guilded armour and golden cloak. While the Stilinskis did not come from a royal name (although their lineage was old in Beacon recordings) or great wealth, his father had worked harder than anyone Stiles knew to become the leader of the Kingsguard. And here Stiles was, minutes to a beheading and probably taking along his dear Dad.

For the first time in years he looked scared. The last he'd seen his Dad fail at hiding his fear was when Stiles watched him watch his Mom die (the only woman he'd loved). Not even the milk of poppy had helped ease her pain as she drifted into another world without her husband or son. Beyond the city, beyond the Wall and beyond where people would remember the way her bread smelled in the mornings. Like Stiles still did.

"How long have you been at that post?"

The voice shook Stiles out of his memories to look at Derek, who had actually spoken. Not growled or snarled like some people on the street gossiped was the only way he could vocally express himself - he had used _words_.

"Yes, how long have you been _spying_?"

Again, the growl returned and another member cowered back, pretending he wasn't shaking now.

"I-I," Stiles stuttered before clearing his throat and trying again. "Just... a few weeks, months?"

Derek leveled him with a glare that said without words 'no bullshit.' Huh, maybe that was why he didn't talk all that much; he didn't need to.

"Ok, ok. Forteen months, two weeks," Stiles divulged, and felt like cowering even more at the whispers that circled around the table.

He glanced at his Father again and knew the old knight would usually sigh if this wasn't the life-or-death tense situation it was. Looking back to Derek who was still glaring at him, as if willing Stiles would just give himself a heartattack on the spot, the teen wondered if this was the first situaiton Derek might have to exorcise his new-found power. He had just stabbed his uncle and Queen Kate (who apparently had been with Derek before, but once had realized he did not have the ambition to become king unlike his uncle, was dropped like a dull sword, only to come back into his life via assassination attempts) two days ago.

"Please, your highness," his Father said as he swiftly went down on one knee; "My son does not know his place."

"He is but a child," Derek growled out. Stiles opened his mouth to protest ("So I'm skinny and I haven't had sex, it's not like you can smell that, no matter how good your smelling is!"), but his father leveled him with a look.

"Regardless, your highness. I will forever be indebted to you. If you truly found my oaths empty like you stated, this is something I will never retreat on. I beg of you."

Derek's eyes honed in on Stiles again and the supposed boy just wanted to shrink in on himself and fly away. He read of men who could shift; maybe he could turn into a raven with the message to himself of how royally screwed he was.

After what felt like an eternal winter, the dark-haired king snorted and stated, "That is unnecessary, Knight Stillinski. I will not slaughter a child. Yet his life is now mine. He will serve at my side. _Sit_."

Stiles didn't know what was more shocking: that this man had thoughts beyond red meat and full moons, or that he was now bound to this man simply from sitting in a choice position on a hot roof every week. Not that he didn't do other things that were considered immoral behavior. Sneaking into the castle to see Scott, sneaking both him and Allison out to the markets and nearly an elopement once. Poaching in the king's forrest after Peter began slaughtering citizens instead. Really, it was almost pathetic that Stiles should get caught for something as minor as listening when he had much worse habbits. Yet caught he had been, and now bounded he was.

So, mouth agape, he could only continue to lie sprawled on the polished wood table. At least until his father stood and strode forward to grab him by the collar and slid him off. Stiles stood on shakey legs, his pride not allowing him to lean against his Dad for further parental support.

Derek took a few steps to him (or more like lunges; how could he seem so tall when he was roughly the same height as Stiles?) and Stiles could have sworn he sniffed - _sniffed_ - at him before inclining his head to the front of the table.

Stumbling into a walk from a gentle push from his father, Stiles made his way closer to the ornate King's chair, glancing back once to see Derek looming directly behind him. Still sniffing and _how_ was Stiles not losing his sanity from this situation yet?

The scrape of wood echoed as Stiles sat at the side of the king, where usually his leader of the Kingsguard, his Father, would sit. Instead the elder Stilinski stood by the door, his armor looking shiny and young, but his face looking anything but. Even his usually bring eyes lacked energy. If Stiles was not so occupied with stomping down an impending panic attack he would've suffocate instead under all the guilt.

Stiles only turned back to the table as Derek snapped: "Begin!"

And so began Stiles' life at the side of Derek, leader of the House Hale and King of the Five Realms.

.

"I'm his _what_?" Stiles asked angrily.

"His manservant," his father sighed as he closed the door. Stiles wanted to gape and goggle at the huge room before him (As he'd never snuck into the King's quarters - he wasn't suicidal. Although today's events suggest other wise.), but that was for another time. Becuase apparently if he was going to be Derek's manservant, he would have other opportunities. Like, everyday.

"You will always be at his side, assissting him in whatever he requires," his father continued to explain.

"For how long?"

Stiles got a look that said it all.

"Oh, well, at least I had sixteen years of freedom," Stiles laughed bitterly. If in peril or life-deciding circumstances? Make a joke; it worked, Stiles would swear. Just the other day it'd gotten him out of a fight Scott had nearly started.

"At least you get to live _past_ sixteen years," his father answered softly as he rubbed a hand over his face. Here Stiles saw his father. The man who had bounced him on his leg, had taught him how to gut a fish and break a horse. To shoot a bow and stab with a sword. But of course nothing about snagging girls. No, of course not.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Stiles whispered in the large, empty room as he sat atop the cushioned bed.

"I am not the one paying the price, son," was the answer he received.

Next thing he knew he was being swallowed up in his father's arms. Although the hug was weighed down with chain mail and armour separated them, Stiles gave everything he had left into the hug.

"I guess I'll be seeing more of you now," his Dad said as he pulled away and rubbed at his face again stubbornly. Stiles mirrored the action.

Then he was out of the room with a swoosh of his cloak and a click of the door shutting, leaving Stiles alone. Alone with only his thoughts - never a good match.

By the time Derek decided to show up, Stiles was pacing the room with a fortune of questions. The most coming from the reverberating statement his Dad had said of '...assisting him of anything he requires.' Stiles had never known what he wanted to be when he grew up (or at least grew up more, he was a man damnit!) but being a common whore was not one. How was he even supposed to pleasure another, especially an older man, the King who expected everything, when he had never done anything but fantisize about Lady Lydia from glimpses? He was just a destitute man in the sex department. And now he'd been upgraded to King concubine and-

"Why are you taking your shirt off? I'm not ready!" Stiles squealed as he crossed his arms, as if to protect his perfectly intact chastity.

Derek snorted as he made his way over to some drawers, where he paused to completely strip down. Stiles did another manly squeak as he covered his eyes with a hand... and then peaked through. His curiosity really was going to kill him one day.

"I am changing, pup," Derek said with another snort.

"For?"

"Has it occured to you I might need rest?" Derek asked as he pulled on white, cotton pants, but did nothing to cover that finely shaped torso. No- Stiles meant torso of his oppressor. Crushing him under injustice and not from other activities-

"You... want to sleep?"

"No, I came here to ravish you," Derek said with a scoff that did nothing to stop Stile's cheeks from burning.

"Well- well how am I supposed to know what 'manservant' curtails!" he snapped out with as much fervor as he could muster. He could be outdone by a crippled lemming, truly.

"It means come here," Derek said as he lied on the covers and patted to the empty space at his side.

"I thought this wasn't a sex thing."

"It's not. Now _come_," Derek growled.

"Good choice of command," Stiles grumbled to himself as he realized with further chagrin that his cheeks were refusing to cool off.

He lied down, stiff as a dead deer, next to the king of all but three days. Although Stiles prided himself in his imagination and ability to conjure up impossible scenarios (The biggest being Lydia actually going for him; oh how the House of Flowers were vain!) him sitting abreast to Derek Hale was not one of them. Just the other day he'd heard old wives gossiping about him while doing laundry in the river; now he could hear Derek breath and feel the waves of heat roll off of him in an unexpectantly comforting way.

"You have been listening to the council," Derek stated, his voice breaking a silence Stiles hadn't relalized he hadn't hated.

"Yes," Stiles said, cursing as his voice broke from lack of use. He cleared it before adding, "I know the problems, the power plays going on. Maybe it was smart to let me live."

"Do you think I let you live for just your pretty face?"

Huh, so maybe wolfy-man was not that bone-brained. How unfair - to have all the musceles you could possibly want with some brians on the side. Maybe it just came from being the leader of the most ruthless, feared house (if it coud be called that) of the continent. And not to mention the dry sarcasm - should Stiles laugh?

"So you want me to fill you in on the inner workings of the council so you can actually control it, instead of it controlling you like it did your uncle? Or at least before that crazy bitch Kate Argent waltzed in and-"

Stiles snapped his eyes wide open as he realized his brash statement. Way to go Stiles - bring up his last, close relative that he had to kill in cold blood for the good of the realms along with the woman who had fucked (literally, Stiles realized) both Peter and Derek over and up. Sure, there was the whole revenge aspect of it, as Peter and Kate had deceived the Hales living in the capital for the slaughter. Or, at least Kate had and controlled Peter through poison and fire until he was so mad at everything he lost his sanity and didn't care. Derek had to put him down like a sick dog - and then kill the woman who he had apparently loved since Stiles' age.

The game of thrones truly was a brutal, bloody thing that took away everything a person loved.

"Not now," Derek sighed, and Stiles was shocked at just how vulnerable with exhaustion he sounded.

"Alright," Stiles said quietly. "I'll just, uh, go sleep on that couch there-"

"Not until you finish grooming me," Derek said as he reached foward and grabbed Stiles by the arm before he could leave the bed.

"Groom?" Stiles asked out, afraid of the fingers loosely laced around his fragile (but still oh-so masculine) wrist.

"It is Hale custom to groom before bed, and as I am alone as you so eloquently pointed out-" Stiles had the decency to grimace at that "- you will have to suffice." Derek let go of his wrist to flip over onto his stomach.

"O-Ok, what do I do?" Stiles asked as he moved closer to the black-haired king, knees brushing his naked side.

"Just the head for tonight."

Stiles cracked his knuckles and shook his fingers out before he began carding his fingers through the thick, surprisingly soft, hair. Again - he needed to work on his imagination so he would be somehwat prepared for situations like this.

"Aren't you afraid I'll snap your neck or something?" Stiles couldn't help but ask.

He was answered with a muffled scoff.

"Hey! It could happen!"

"I could also throw you agianst a wall before you had the chance. That could easily happen as well."

"Oh." Stiles gulped. "I see your point."

"Now no more talking," Derek said, trailing off with a growl that didn't sound very threatening but instead more like a purr, as Stiles continued to run his hand through his hair.

There wasn't really any tangles (or maybe half-eaten carcasses of small animals) that Stiles could find, so after some time he paused, and Derek shifted to his side before ordering him away to the couch Stiles had spoken of before.

Bringing the blanket up to his chin and smelling Derek's piney scent on his hands, Stiles wondered if tomorrow could be anymore lifechanging.

.

Stiles was impressed with himself - and that was something that didn't happen everyday (no matter his unusual his awesomeness level was in comparison to everyone else). The best part wasn't just the threat of hubris, but the fact that even his Dad was proud of himself. And, surprisingly and to a lesser degree, King Derek.

It had seemed like an week for Stiles as he followed Derek around just like the pup the king had nicknamed him as. Although his Dad told him stories about the castle, Stiles had not been allowed to enter. Sure, he still did with the help of Scott and on the rare occasion Danny, but he had never walked the hallways in plain daylight, without the threat of capture looming over him like the suits of armor all around. Now he was free to walk around, metaphorically chained to King Derek's side.

It wasn't like the man was a savage. Not even the derogitory term Noble Savage people had given him. He was genually a man of action and although his moral compass seemed a little screwy, and his brain didn't always think things through, he seemed good enough to Stiles. Sure, it scared him stiff when Derek just outright killed, via broken neck, that servant who had attempted to poison his food, but hey. Stuff like that happens and you gotta know how to, uh, handle it.

Yet when the next meeting came around and Derek gave him the floor, Stiles was ready. He had been ready months before, listening while he baked on the rooftop, suspended hunderds of feet from the ocean. Now he could give his say with experience from living in the city, knowledge from thinking over the problems and how to make the city have better innerworkings to stop the chinks in its metaphorical armor.

By the time the meeting was over and the old men left to lick their wounded prides and slowly slipping power (because really, who could touch Stiles with Derek and his claws and teeth and neck-breaking ability right there) Stiles looked up to see his Dad and Derek leveling him with differing, but still similar, prideful looks.

"I'm not a total invalid," Stiles said with a roll of his eyes, but a smile regardless.

Derek did that snort (which Stiles could now identify as his slightly-amused one) before he ruffled his hair. His father gave him a hard slap on the back as he stumbled to follow his king and master, making Stiles grin despite the pain.

So maybe being found out wasn't so bad, Stiles thought as he trotted alongside Derek to keep up as his father and two other knights followed behind. He was allowed to come and go in a life of relative relaxation (without the ever present threat of murder, of course) and could make a difference to the great Beacon capital he loved so much.

Later that day, as Derek came back from training only to find Stiles reading while basking in the afternoon sun, the teen was surprised to find Derek pushing aside his book and showing Stiles his bare back.

"Yes, quite a sight?" Stiles asked out hesitantly as he tried to look beyond the wall of flesh to Derek's face.

"Get to scratching," Derek said gruffly.

"Oh... right!"

So far Derek had only allowed him to touch his head, which Stiles thought a little odd, as he'd read wolves only allowed others to touch their heads when they were trusted the most. (Ok, so Stiles had been reading up on anything he could get about the Hale House and the dire wolves and regular wolves they were tied so closely, some say in their very blood, to. It only made sense, Stile kept telling himself as he would finish one book and pick up the next.)

"You did well today," Derek said, breaking the silence and another one of Stile's assumptions of the man. He had never expected to get a compliment. Ever.

"Thank you, your grace," Stiles replied humbly.

Derek scoffed at the title, but relaxed again as Stile's nimble fingers began to earnestly undo knots of stress.

Stiles was the one who broke the silence next when he said, "It was smart not to kill me."

"Of course. I knew you were intelligent, innocent and a perfect resource to exploit."

"Don't hold back for my nearly nonexistant pride, please," Stiles muttered under his breath.

"Through you I secured knowledge about this city. Through protecting you I protect myself from the trust of your Father, who has rightfully earned the trust of the troops. I have secured my place."

"I think it's time for a pay raise for me," Stiles quipped.

Derek let out something that sounded more like a cough than a laugh, but Stiles still brightened at the sound and dug into his back with more energy than before.

"I never did thank you for saving my unsignificant life," Stiles said when he felt his fingers begin to stiffen from the work. Those muscles may not be made of marble (no matter how sharp they looked) but they sure weren't made of fur.

"No life is insignificant," Derek said before he stood and went to his bed, curling in on himself like a wolf before dozing off in the afternoon sun.

.

After a month of being at Derek's side, Stiles was still alive and Derek's life was looking equally opportunistic. So far he had not made many more enemies (other than the ever-hated Argents, although even then Stiles could help from his friendship with Allison) and it seemed that there would not be a coup in the foreseeable future. While Derek could not rule a kingdom alone, no matter how nice those shoulders were for hauling things, Stiles liked to think he did help. If only in his connections and strings that he could pull to get information, and how no closet was too small for him to squeeze into.

Derek thought his sneaking was cowardly. Or at least he had until Stiles overheard an assassination attempt on Derek that his father was able to squish before it was even full formed.

So maybe it was that which created the newfound trust that had blossomed in Derek's oh-so-manly chest to allow him to tag along in his training. Not like Stiles was really engaged in this new privilege; good thing he always had a book with him.

Which he immersed himself in until he heard a body sit aside him on the grassy hill he'd perched himself on.

"Scott!" Stiles exclaimed in happiness as he threw his arms over his fellow teen and best friend.

"Stiles! I could hardly believe what Allison and Lydia told me, but when Jackson explained it I knew it must be true!" his best friend exclaimed as his tanned face cracked from a wide grin.

"Yes, well, you know me," Stiles said with a nervous laugh as he marked his page before closing his book.

"Never knew you would get so deep in trouble as to become the manservant to Derek the Kingslayer."

"Oh, I do hate that name," Stiles sighed.

"That's what he is," Scott said with a raised eyebrow.

"And I thought you were part of the Hale House and should show loyalty to your leader."

If Scott had ears and a tail at the moment, like he at times did, they would show the guilt at Stiles' rightful accusation.

"I'm not really connected," Scott muttered. "I can't even fully transform like him. I'm not that pure of royal blood."

"So your Dad was disowned from his place for falling in love out of the tribe, big deal! That's in the past! I mean, aren't you up for a promotion soon in the army here? Whenever I hear of the Wolf Berzerker I can't stop smiling like an idiot."

"Yeah, well, I have to get higher so Allison's family accepts me," Scott said with determination.

"Scott," Stiles said in exasperation, "we've been over this. Your houses have been in conflict for centuries. I know your love is the truest of true, able to resurrect the extinct dragons and make them breath rainbows, but you can't fix everything with teenage love."

"I so can!" Scott said as his eyes flashed golden.

"Whatever you say buddy, whatever you say," Stiles said as he shook his head.

"Anyway, as much as I like talking with you, I have to go see the King."

"Why?" Stiles asked in a hurry, worry gripping his chest.

"Just to flatten him on his back," Scott answered with a feral grin before he was off to the sparring ring that was littered with men stupid enough to take on Derek.

Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperation, but didn't pick up his book in favor of watching his best friend get flattened by his master.

.

It wasn't like Stiles' didn't like the market, in actuality he loved it. All the different people and different stales and different smells. All the opportunities to snatch an apple or orange here, find a lost coin or ring there. There was always things to see and discover.

But when he was weighed down with Derek who had to sniff at everything they passed, and his Dad behind with his clinking armour, Stiles was seriously thinking of making a run for it. He hadn't really thought about his lack of freedom until now. Odd.

Another thing that was definitely odd? How that wine vendor was checking our their little party of three. And not in the creepy-flattering checking out, but the way Stiles sometimes saw men checking him out to see if his organs would suffice or if he was too skinny to even have organs to sell. This man seemed even more dasdardly, if that was possible.

The man hurried over, and at the brash intrusion, Derek put himself in front of Stiles, his other escort coming to stand aside of Derek. Really- Stiles wasn't some pathetic damsel in distress!

"Your highness," the vendor said with a low bow, yet not spilling the dark liquid in the cup he offered Derek. "Please, have a taste of my famous southern wine. It is truly a delicacy."

Derek leaned forward and sniffed before reeling back and snarling, "It smells wrong."

"It truly is something drunk here. It may just be something you are not accustomed to in the North," the shop assistant explained politely.

"Do you partake?" Derek asked Stiles' dad, who seemed offset by the question.

"That isn't my first choice usually, but yes. My wife did like to have it on occasion," he answered, looking down in discomfort. Stiles knew he did drink wine like this to try and cope without the woman who used to sip so delicately at it.

Derek narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at the drink before grabbing it from the man, bringing it up to his nose to sniff again. Stiles watched his pointed ears flatter against his head as he brought it closer to his lips.

"Wait!" Stiles exclaimed from behind the two larger figures, who turned around, each with eyebrows raised.

Fumbling to explain why he _just knew_ something was wrong, and why the vendor would not stop wringing his hands, Stiles stumbled to say with a wide smile, "If it's so good, why don't you taste it for us?"

"No, no thank you," the vendor said hesitantly as he took a step back.

"But it is your craft!" Stiles said with energy as he stepped forward from the shadows of his king and Dad. "Show your king how it should be drunk from the man who knows it best."

The vendor's eyes shifted from side to side. His fingers began to grow red from him constantly gripping them. Stile narrowed his eyes - he knew it!

As if smelling his deceit, Derek growled and crushed the ceramic cup before lunging forward and grabbing the man by his throat with his other hand, crushing that just as easily. He dropped the body amid the now dead-quiet market and threw the remains of the cup on the man's vacant face. Then Derek Hale turned back to the castle with both Stilinskis in tow, giving each other worrisome looks.

It was only when Derek had gotten to the room and yanked Stiles inside, telling his guards to wait at the end of the hall instead of outside his door, did the teen notice how Derek's hand was bleeding.

"You're bleeding," he said smartly as he pointed to the dripping appendage.

Derek lifted his hand, sniffed and scowled before he brought his tongue out, with obvious intent to lick it clean.

"What- stop that! There still might be poison there!" Stiles said as he rushed foward and pushed Derek's face away from his palm. "Let me see."

Ignoring the growl that seemed to reverberate out of Derek's ribcage and into Stiles' bones, the teenager looked down at the hand and winced at the deep gashes the ceramic cup had left. Derek had shattered it in his hand before tightening his hold on the shards in rage - obviously it would cut into his skin.

"Sit on the bed. I'll get the stitches and silk."

Derek just continued growling.

"Don't back growl me! I saved your life today. _Again_. The least I can do is not allow some stupid infection to take it back."

"I'll just heal by morning."

"It would give me peace of mind," Stiles admitted.

Derek huffed that amused-but-still-always-stone-face-annoyed huff before sitting on the edge of the bed. Stiles scurried to get some water and cut the bandages before he set on cleaning the hand.

"You trust too easily sometimes," Stiles said softly as he was nearly finished cleaning off the dried blood.

Derek snorted before speaking. "It was a moment of weakness. The market was too clustered for me to smell and think right, and I do not know all your customs yet. And this city and meetings have made me soft."

"You trust me too much," Stiles reiterated. By now the wound was clean, but still gaping, so Stiles washed the needle and thread before beginning.

"You will not poison me like he did," Derek snorted, obviously offended at even the suggestion.

"'Like'? Insinuating I might poison you, just in a different way?" Stiles asked in an incredulous tone.

Looking up, Stiles nearly stopped his meticulous stitching at the sight before him. Becuase Derek Hale, the king of nearly all, had stains of red on his tanned cheeks. Derek turned away from Stiles a moment later, his eyes glowing blue like they sometimes did. Stiles would never admit this, but it contrasted beautifully with his light blush.

"My king?" Stiles said softly, afraid of Derek's prescence for the fist time in weeks.

"Don't call me that," he snapped, as his cheeks now had nothing but their usual stubble.

"Then what should I call you?" Stiles asked back, sighing in relief for no good reason. "My wolf? That makes you sound like my pet. Heh - imagine that, the king becoming owned to some faceless manservant who never knows his place. Or when to shut his mouth. Obviously."

Derek was silent for some time before he finally spoke softly: "Ownership does go both ways."

Stiles continued on with stitching, deciding to simply ignore the clashing battle of what-the-fuck that was going on between them. He was not going to ask, despite how the questions seemed to burn and bubble in chest like dragon fire. Maybe it was tedious and unneccessary to go through all this effort for someone who would have easily healed, even without this help.

Derek really didn't need them like he said; still Stiles thought he needed that conversation.

Looking over his work, Stiles nodded once and, feeling brave, leaned over and brushed his lips against Derek's sewn-together palm. Derek did nothing but give a sharp inhale of air. Stiles stood and left for his couch in a rush, not trusting his heart to keep up the pace it was going at before it blew. Or his hands, should Derek demand for his nightly grooming.

But his king did not ask, and instead simply did Stiles' job of blowing out the candle.

* * *

**TBC...**


	2. The Merging

_A Beginning Note: Thanks so much for everyone's support! Sorry this is so late to the first posting. Enjoy!_

* * *

**The House of Wolves**

Part II - The Merging

.

Derek Hale usurped the crazy King Peter who had slaughtered the true heir Laura or, more personally precise, Derek's sister. The Hale house was one of noble and old blood, dating back from the crazies that lived in the north were Winter never ended and the months were known by amounts of snowfall.

They took the sigel of the massive dire wolf, as they were literally part of the creatures themselves. It is still unknown whether they came from the wolves themselves, or if they were just all steeped in magic enough for the strongest, who they deemed true leaders (and so true kings), to transform at will.

They were the strongest on the full moon, which was also on their crest. A bright white moon with a blood-red swirl (and done in true blood if it was made in their homeland), the end of it having the snarling head of a dire wolf. Their house words weren't even words, just the one-word command of: Howl.

Stiles knew they were secretive people, who disliked coming out from the shadows of mountains they dwelled beneath and traveled along. These people were truly part of the past. With their oddly democratic ways in such a rugged condition, they were a special tribe indeed. One that supplied kings for centuries, or, at least supplying kings to overthrow any other clan when an unworthy leader was elected. For being so reclusive, they sure loved to dawdle in the kingdom's affairs.

It was yet to be seen whether Derek was a true leader or not, as he had been unwillingly forced into the situation. Forced to come out of the forest he'd chosen over the city, only for the city to sink its claws and pull him howling back. The youngest of his family, destined for nothing of excellence, only to have his family slaughtered and him put in the forefront. He had lived up to the swirl of vengeance on his house's sign and had destroyed the woman who had destroyed his pack, but Stiles knew it still must hurt. How else could he have perfected that brooding aura so fast?

Maybe that was the motivation for his sudden declaration one morning, as Stiles threw a shirt over those shoulders that could carry mountains (or at least large livestock). The shirt quickly covered the three-pronged swirl that coated his back, and Stiles had always wondered (ever since that first night when the idiot king had just _stripped_ with no warning) what it meant.

"I am returning to the north and you are coming."

Stile gaped at his cotton-clad back. After a few minutes of just allowing his mouth to disconnect and lay on the floor, he blurted: "You're _abducting_-"

"Not permanently," he said with a huff and knock to Stiles' head that had the younger one biting back tears. As if sensing his misuse of strength, Derek patted him awkwardly where he'd just hit him as he said, "Just to return and see how the tribe is holding."

"Oh, right. Of course." Even if all his immediate family was killed here at the capital, Derek hypothetically had hundreds of brothers and sisters to guard.

"You have still not agreed," Derek said with his eyes returning to that eerie blue as he took a step forward. Panicking, Stiles went to the breakfast tray and pushed a slice of bread into Derek's mouth. The wolf looked mildly offended before he simply began chewing.

"Of course I'll come. I mean, why wouldn't I not want to freeze my non-existant ass off?" Stiles answered as he helped himself to some bread as well, taking the time to smear it with blackberry jam. Really, it tasted like there was more sugar than berry, but it was delicious non-the-less.

Derek gave out an exhale of relief. Then he took the tray from Stiles before he could continue to rob him of his meal. The king took it out to the balcony that overlooked the sea and Stiles followed, if only for the food.

"The wolves will be giving birth soon," Derek said after they'd sat, and Stiles nearly choked on his slice of tangerine at the smile. He didn't even think Derek had the ability to smile, just as he'd originally thought he couldn't even speak.

"I intend to bring a litter back," Derek continued to speak without prompting, which was nearly as odd as his smile.

"My Dad isn't enough protection?" Stiles ventured to ask.

"I need more of my pack with me. It is too small here," Derek said. Stiles wondered if he could even consider himself alone as a pack, but his arms probably weighed as much as Stiles, so hey. Let the man think of himself as more than just a singular unit.

"And my Erica is having pups this season. Her first," Derek said with so much pride it made Stiles gag on another slice of citrus. That was the only reason of course, not because Derek had already sired children.

Of course this guy was already going about spreading his sexiness - why wouldn't he? It wasn't like he was the king and had the right to fuck whoever he wanted. It was practically expected to have at least a few bastards scampering around the kingdom; double points if it was out of the capital.

Sure, the guy could get down with whoever he wanted. Not that Stiles was volunteering or anything, even if there wasn't the threat of bastards through him and - dammit!

Stiles decided that instead of just ignoring the problem until it went away like usual, he would attempt to drown it with food. So, ignoring Derek's twitching nose and inquisitive eyebrows as he inhaled more than what was considered healthy, Stiles ate on.

.

It took roughly a fortnight before Derek was let go of the diplomatic hold that came from being the sole ruler of a vast kingdom. Yet Stiles cajoled the council into releasing them from the walled city. He could only manage to wrestle ten days from them and then an additional six days for travel there and back, but it was good enough. Derek had growled in warning at the short time, his claws making a guest appearance, but Stiles had talked him down from murdering anyone that day. Stiles thought it was the first time the council saw him as truly important.

So it was decided that Stiles' father would stay behind to take control of mobilizing the forces, if it should come to that, and for half the Kings guard to remain behind. Stiles had explained that if it was a secret holiday, there wasn't need for much protection. And if there was too much it would attract attention and it wouldn't be very secretive anymore.

After coming away from another diplomatic battle won, Stiles groaned at the thought of the long ride ahead. Sure, he could ride a horse, but that didn't make him so special to not get saddle sores.

Not that he had a choice, and Derek looked so relieved to be out of the walls when they left in the dead of night that Stiles bit his tongue to stop whining. Derek always hated it when he did it, regardless of the situation.

So their little company of eight rode into the night with just their packs, horses and each other to rely on. It was invigorating; Stiles hadn't been out of the city for years. After his mother died, who was the one who always prompted them to get out of the gloom and into the countryside, his father had immersed himself in work and Stiles had immersed himself in appeasing his curiosity. Making connections and understanding the city inside and out had become Stiles' life. It was a little disarming to be riding away from it all in the blanket of a dark night, where he couldn't see a damn thing past his horse's head. Good thing he trusted Derek to lead with his flashing blue eyes aside of him.

The travel was fine for the first couple of days. They had decided, to avoid any outside contact, to only travel on the roads at night, and even those were side ones, never the main ones. They kept their cloaks up at all times, not to say that it could truly hide how armored the other six men with them were underneath.

Dawn had just come to signal the third day when the Argents attacked.

It happened just as Derek commanded they to tie and rest the horses. Stiles patted his own, who seemed a lot more fit than the other seven's from his light weight. Who knew being thin could be helpful in situations outside of squeezing through the sewers. He stroked her bare back comfortingly before handing her a bite of apple.

The arrows came first, just after they had dismounted and the knights were taking off their armor. Stiles could have sworn his heart had leaped into his mouth as he watched one spear into Derek's chest with a dull thud. Yet the wolfman only growled before snapping it off. Obviously it had missed its target of Derek's heart.

Another volley came as quickly as the first, and Stiles had just enough time to cower behind the pine he had tied his horse to before any hit him. Not that any really came close; he wondered if they even saw him. Or maybe he was just never a threat - ouch. At least it didn't hurt as the arrow bedded in Derek's chest.

Then men were sprouting from the forest to meet those who had survived the arrows, their silver swords shining in the soft dawn light. He saw their trademark bows made of antlers at their hips, their hawk-feathered tips arrows peeking out from the quivers at their backs. He had seen Allison practice with weaponry like that for years, and he suddenly thought how stupid it was of him to tell Scott about his upcoming get-away.

Stiles had just managed to throw himself on the horse in time to look up and see Derek alone, standing off against three vetran-looking hunters, two dozen others behind. The six men from the guard littered around, their mouths and eyes wide as they stared up at the lighting sky.

"This is a vacation!" Stiles grumbled to himself angrily before he spurred his mare forward, grabbing her mane and squeezing his legs tight as she reared forward to catch the hunters off guard.

Derek seemed to know at least when to fight his battles as he leaped on the horse before kicking her away, leaving the hunters to switch from their swords to bows. Stiles tried to focus on riding and not the arrows speeding by, of another sick thud of an arrow finding flesh.

"Derek-" he said as he tried to turn around, feeling the warm blood that had already soaked through Derek's tunic and was probably staining Stiles' own now.

"Ride," he snarled out the order.

And that's what Stiles did, because if he wanted anything more, it was to get the fuck out of there. He rode throughout the day in the forest, too afraid to even turn around and see if the Argents were following. All he focused on was the horsehair in his hands and the man behind him whose grip on his torso to hold on had become weaker and weaker as the day passed.

It was just when he'd come upon a stream for the overworked, foaming-at-the-mouth horse to rest and drink when Derek slid off and fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

"Derek!" Stiles said as he jumped off and let the horse go to the water, choosing to ignore how its back was now painted red.

The dark-haired man was still breathing, but barely. Stiles wondered what he should do; all he had were the clothes he was wearing and a horse without a saddle. He hadn't dared waste time with gathering supplies and they would have weighted them down. All he knew was just to keep riding in the direction they'd been going, to hopefully get to Derek's land before he keeled over and died. Well, he had only done half of that so far, so maybe things weren't all that bad.

At least, that was until he had to drag his body to the stream and pull out the arrows. Stiles had heard the second arrow hit his back as they'd rode away, but as he held it in hand, it felt so surreal. That Derek had gotten shot twice and was still alive, albeit barely. Yet it was odd that he'd seemed nearly unaffected by the first arrow, yet this second one had done so much damage. It could only be wolfsbane. Bastards.

Taking out the arrows woke him up momentarily, if only to howl out in a mixture of pain and annoyance, before he was out again.

"There we go- not too bad right? Just pulling out some sharp objects imbedded in yourself."

Derek only gave a weak growl, but Stiles would take it.

Stiles busied himself with cleaning the wound before tearing off the sleeves of his tunic to create bandages. Gashes in his hand were nothing compared to arrows inches deep; he wondered if he could heal from these as quickly. It didn't exactly help that the moon was only half full tonight, even if it was waxing.

"Of course nothing we could do could just go freaking right. No, your arch enemies had to know about it and go fucking kill six of my Dad's men. Man, he's going to be so pissed about this. If he finds out, because, well shit, it's not like we have a raven to send or anything. Great, so I'm abandoned with a dying king and a blood-stained horse. Fan-freaking-tastic."

Spotting a cave at the rocks, he grunted and pulled Derek to the overhanging. He knew night would be setting in, and they were too sparsely dressed to go anywhere, especially with the miles they had covered to bring them even closer to the eternal winter up here. While the snow littering around helped ice Derek's wounds and Stile's sore body from riding without a saddle and without stopping, it wouldn't help keep them warm.

Stiles knew he shouldn't fall asleep, even if Derek's body heat eliminated the threat of dying from the cold. Really, this man could market himself as a heater and not a king. Yet the teen was so tired from riding for nearly a days time without sleep and with only a handful of berries. Derek was the one who caught the fish when they came to a river like this.

No sooner had Stiles been trying to entertain his mind to keep him awake, he was snapped to attention by something wet against his neck. Then a warm puff of air and a rough tongue.

His first sleep-and-sanity-deprived instinct was that it was Derek, so he giggled and said, "Down boy!"

Yet the growl that he was answered with sounded a lot more animatistic than Derek ever did. So, telling himself to just breathe and to not tense and think of running (because like hell he could just throw Derek over his shoulder, no matter the adrenaline) he opened his eyes, only to peer into clear brown ones. Ones belonging to a golden wolf of Stile's height and probably thrice the weight.

Stiles let out a very manly, high-pitched yelp that had the wolf's ears flattening and Derek groggily groaning aside of him.

At the sound of Derek waking up, the wolf perked up and went to him, and it was then that Stiles saw the swollen belly of the wolf. Definitely at least four times Stiles' weight.

As if it wasn't enough of a miracle that Derek had woken up after being shot with a no-doubt wolfsbane laced arrow, he was smiling and reaching up to rustle the wolf's ears as it nuzzled him in return. They continued this for a few tender moments, literally cooing at each other in a way that made Stiles want to puke, before the wolf turned away and let out an ear-shattering howl that had Stiles flailing and trying to remember how hearing worked.

Soon there was a mini-wolf army of five framing the river, two others sniffing and playfully yipping at his horse that had somehow decided to stay. And before Stiles could say anything Derek was standing and hobbling over to the largest one.

Derek threw a leg over it, a silver one with black eyes, with a grunt and grimace. Stiles attempted to do the same, but the white wolf took pity on him and simply crouched down for him to get situated and a good hold of the pelt.

"Derek, what is-" Stiles tried to ask, because this was all so truly bizarre, but then the wolves were off and he was fighting to stay on. It was nothing like riding a horse, here he was too terrified to hold on tightly in fear of upsetting the wolf, yet petrified of being thrown off with the breakneck speed.

Thankfully it didn't last for long, and soon Stiles was shouldered off by the wolf to tumble on the ground before an impressive looking shaman. He had the skull of a wolf atop his head, shadowing his painted and weathered face, while a coat of raven feathers draped down his back.

"Young one," he said in a deep voice, "You have brought Derek Hale before use, injured but alive."

Stiles licked his lips nervously as he watched Derek, who was still on his wolf and flanked by that original golden one, enter into a tent. The flaps closed and he looked back to the man.

"W-We were attacked," he stuttered to say. "I did the only thing I could think of and took De-His Highness and rode in your direction."

The shaman contemplated him in silence.

"Please don't kill me," Stiles squeaked as he rubbed his hands together, trying to will his shaking away. But night had descended and he was cold and all these reflective eyes studying him was not the most warming sight. He missed Derek and his crazy body heat.

Yet the shaman said nothing else, only inclined his head. Two men came forward and Stiles still had enough energy to go along with them without collapsing in relief. He wasn't taken to the same tent Derek was in, and Stiles ignored the spike of worry in his stomach from realizing he would have to wait until the morning. And how for the first time since being enlisted by Derek, he wouldn't be sleeping in the same room. It wasn't like he worried about Derek's protection, as was the reason back in the city, but- Stiles sighed.

What a mess.

.

Stiles twisted and turned in the bed he was given. Despite how soft it was of rabbit and deer pelts, he could not sleep. At times he could have sworn he heard Derek cry out, and wondered just how much poison had leaked into his system. He knew the first arrow that'd pierced him had been a regular one, but that second one aimed when they'd been retreating. That was one had been specialty made for the king.

Eventually Stiles did fall asleep, for he awoke at the first rays of light from a horn being blown. He scrambled to stand and dress, finding some clothing provided. He was grateful; he wasn't looking wear a tunic stained with blood all down the back and leggings that were worn to the point of tearing from riding without a saddle. Yet he found, with slight chagrin, that there was no shirt provided. Just some sort of fur vest made of what looked like fox. It was big and warm, but really, wouldn't his hands get cold? At least there were pockets...

Deciding to bear it, he left dressed in the deer skin tights, the fashion-statement vest, and beaver-skin boots. If these people were anything, they were resourceful. With his new dress, it wasn't too hard to blend into the throngs of people going this way and that throughout the collection of tents.

Recognizing the tent Derek had gone into, Stiles made a beeline for it, only to stop at the burly men at the entrance.

"I have a right to see him! I saved his life, why would I go and kill him now?" Stiles asked, yet the two men only gave him quizzical looks before whispering to each other in a language Stiles did not entirely recognize. Of course, they didn't know the common tongue.

"Stiles!"

At the voice, even if it sounded death-threatening, Stiles' chest rose with hope. The men took that as a signal to let him enter, and when Stiles came in, he winced at the smell of death.

"Derek?" he ventured to ask as he looked around and spotted him covered in furs, and that golden wolf with those intense brown eyes rimmed with black. It's muzzle lined with red, and Stiles realized it'd probably just eaten and that was only blood. Oh yes, only blood on a vicious creature that could snap his neck without batting an eyelash.

"Hi there, pretty girl? You're absolutely glowing you should know- pure gold! How far along are you; you're pretty tubby honestly," Stiles babbled.

As if she could understand him, she growled low and bared her fangs to him.

"Those are, uh, equally as shiny, too. What a catch you must have been for the father of your pups," Stiles continued to speak blankly as he made his way closer to her and Derek. Not for the first time, his common sense was screaming about how much of an idiot he was.

As if deciding it was finally time to speak, Derek said weakly: "Erica, it's ok."

The wolf gave a high keening sound as it turned away from Stiles to lick at Derek's face.

Stiles came as close as he could before sitting on the ground where the bed heaps of furs that must constitute as the bed was. He coughed and felt embarrassed at the reveal that this was Erika.

"So... this is Erica? So you're the lucky one who caught this little lady?"

"I didn't catch her... she came to me. Long ago-" Derek broke off as he coughed and blood came up.

"When are your puppies due?" Stiles asked, wondering if he talked about it more, maybe it would make it less awkward. And wrong. He had heard gossips whisper about how they mounted wolves here, but he hadn't honestly believed it! This was why his stomach was twisting uncomfortably - not for any other reason. Nope.

"What?" Derek snapped and sat up in a flurry that had Erica wagging her tail to. "Don't be an idiot. She is my wolf, my sister in spirit."

"Oh, of course," Stiles said in utter embarrassment.

"We are not so backwards as to mount our own blood," Derek snarled.

"I-I'm sorry, alright? It's just - you don't have a queen yet and you were talking about her before as if she was your, uh, gal. So she's your _wolf_?"

Derek snorted, and Stiles sat up straighter at the comforting sound. "You are just as incredibly stupid as you are keen," he said.

"I should punch you for that insult."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Because you aren't lying on your back like an old person-" Stiles began, but got cut off as Erica made her presence known again with a growl. "Ok, I'll give this one to your pregnant sister."

Derek chuckled weakly before he doubled over with another cough, although this one didn't seem as bad as the one Stiles had first heard. Not realizing it until he was doing it, Stiles reached forward to card his fingers through Derek's hair. Yet before he could, Erica nipped at Stiles' wrist and made him retract his fingers with a frown.

"Erica," Derek said in warning and the wolf whined.

"You don't have to be jealous about me or anything, if that's the problem," Stiles said to the wolf. "It's not like I'm actually somebody in this world. Just a regular human, no freaky wolf powers or high-born honors or-"

"Stiles."

"What? It's all true! Sure my Dad commands the kings guard, but I haven't done anything-"

"You saved me, the king. Again."

"Well, when you say it like that and not how I just hauled your ass on a horse like a coward for a day, then sure."

"I could not have defeated hunters with the amount of wolfsbane they carried. You saved me," Derek said as he breathed deeply.

Stiles looked down at his twitching fingers. What was he supposed to say in response to the king praising Stiles, nobody _Stiles_, for saving his life?

.

It only took until the end of the first day before Derek was up. True, he had to lean either against Erica or Stiles (refusing help from anyone else) but he was still up and about. Not that he truly had to be, as that night a feast was held.

Stiles sat at Derek's left with Erica to his right, each gorging themselves on respected dishes. Stiles noticed that they had respected him enough to cook his meat, while everyone else ate it raw. True, it was bloody raw, but at least it was cooked. It made Stiles feel oddly humbled and honored to be in the company of these people.

Sure, they looked terrifying with their swirling tattoos and fanged smirks while speaking in a language Stile didn't know one word to, but they seemed true at heart. All the strength to support their nature-raised morals.

There was much dancing, and Stiles watched in fascination at the stomping patterns and how woman would be chosen and then flung into the air before being whisked away. Stiles would hear howls in the pines nearby and he blushed as the remaining crowd cheered.

Then suddenly it was as quiet as it had been loud, as the shaman who had met Stiles before came out from the crow. All eyes were suddenly on either him, or Stiles. The teen himself looked to Derek, who inclined his head to the shaman.

Stumbling to his feet, rubbing his suddenly slick with sweat palms against his vest, Stiles walked forward to the old man. He was pleasantly surprised when Derek came to stand by his side, his arms crossed behind his bare chest below his three-pronged tattoo.

The shaman began to speak for the crowd in their foreign language and Stiles bit his lip in worry.

"He is saying of your greatness for assisting in saving me," Derek whispered aside to him, causing Stiles to jump and blush at the close proximity he hadn't been fully aware of.

"Uh, tell him it was my honor? It's in the job description?"

Derek snorted before his deep voice rumbled out an answer for the crowd, who again let out cries and cheers. The shaman spoke again, and suddenly it was deadly quiet.

"What? Was my joke really not funny?" Stiles asked in hurried worry.

"No, it's just..." Derek broke off to shake his black hair and chuckle; "You have been given the high honor of first pick of the first liter born this spring."

"Is-Is it really that high?"

"Reserved for the leaders and on rare occasion their mates."

"Oh, uh... well then. How do you say thank you?"

Stiles is sure he butchered the word, but the shaman still gave a slight smile before he walked off back into the night and the celebrations continued.

.

No sooner had the sun broken was Stiles woken and led to the largest tent, where he entered to see two couples of wolves with pups playing at their paws. Derek lead him over to the mother. She was pure black and had deep-blue eyes; the father that of a light grey with his chest and paws a snowy white. He studied Stiles carefully with auburn eyes before flicking his ears and going back to sleep.

"Hello there, gorgeous," Stiles said as he lifted a hand and offered his palm for the mother to sniff. She had warm eyes that reminded Stiles of his mother and he had to bite back tears. She smelled him quietly and gave a light lick to his wrist before she too flopped down, her muzzle huffing air into her mate's lighter fur.

"So I have permission?" Stiles asked as he looked across to Derek who had squatted aside of him.

"Yes. Not that it wouldn't have been a problem, but a mother does know best for her pups," Derek said as Erica nuzzled his neck.

"So, uh, your wolf is the third pregnant one?" Stiles asked as he looked to the puppies asleep against the black wolf's belly. They all seemed so small, especially when put against the massive size of their mother.

"Yes, Erica is due any day now," he said as he rubbed her ears.

"So, where's her mate?"

"It is unknown. She was very picky I'm told, making the males fight among each other ruthlessly. But then one night she stalked off and the suitors backed off, knowing she had chosen."

"If I wasn't so certain you had been in the capital, I would be wary of you."

Derek shot him with a glower that made the teen laugh and backtrack with, "It was a joke! Stop being such a sour wolf!"

"I am _not_-"

But Derek's retort went unsaid, replaced with the cry of a one of the puppies at the sight of visitors, instantly awaking his brothers and sisters who jumped at the sight.

Before Stiles could do anything, he was surrounded by five balls of varying hair color. Cooing, he began petting and talking babble with them.

"Go on, pick one," Derek said from his side as he nudged him in the shoulder with his forehead. Stiles saw out of his corner something like a smile on his stubbly face, but that might just be the angle. Because even if he'd seen him smile while talking about Erica, Stiles was still in denial.

It was as if his closer proximity to Derek made the puppies wary of Stiles, for they shrunk back to their mother. Or, at least four of the five did.

Stiles looked down to see one was still chewing at his beaver-skinned boots vigorously. Derek growled warningly for him to stop, but the young one only looked up before giving a high-pitched growl of his own. The black mother wolf gave a growl and that finally got the puppy to let go of the boot and slouch away a few inches, his tongue coming out to lick his lips. His eyes remained on Stiles' footwear, as if its continued existence offended the little ball of fur.

"Who are you?" Stiles asked as he reached forward for the pup, who wouldn't stop squirming for a moment. Then he saw Stile's grinning face and favored to try chewing off his ear rather than his boot.

Stiles almost felt guilty for not having noticed this one as much as its siblings. It had an washed-out auburn coat with bright silver eyes while the tips of its ears, muzzle and chest were snowy white, just like his father's.

The teen had thought he'd known love from Lady Lydia, but this was another thing entirely. This was love at first sight.

"You're just precious, aren't you?" Stiles said like a seasoned mother as he cradled the wolf closer, rubbing noses with it. The pup gave a playful yip before clamping down on offered nose.

Biting down tears, and laughing because Derek was growling and the parents were watching with wagging tails, Stiles knew this was the one.

Once the pup had given Stiles back his nose, Derek stood and guided Stiles with a hand on his back to the front of the tent. The pup still nestled cozily against Stiles' chest; for once he was thankful for only a vest, so he could feel the pup's fur directly and hear its little heartbeat.

"He has chosen!" Derek said after they'd emerged, and Stiles looked up in shock to see a modest size crowd before them. He hadn't noticed them; he and his pup had been too busy studying each other.

.

Understandably, the dire wolf pup had to stay with his mother for the next few days until Stiles could take him entirely for himself. In the meantime, he busied himself with sewing a large pocket in his vest, so he could hold his wolf against his chest.

Derek snorted as he rested against Erica's belly and rubbed at her golden waves of fur.

"He's going to overgrow that in a weeks time," he informed.

"Then it will be useful for a weeks time," Stiles said as he smiled, realizing the dire wolf would probably never cease licking his chin at this prime position.

Derek grunted before he sat up, and Stiles didn't miss the wince.

"Were you really that injured?" he asked hesitantly as he put his needle down.

"No," Derek snapped too quickly.

"You really almost died, didn't you?" Stiles asked in horror.

"But I didn't," Derek growled, as if that was the end of the conversation.

Stiles shook his head. "Ever wonder what it'd be like if you'd just killed me that day, if you hadn't realized how useful I could be? Run the council here, save your life there. All in a day's work for Stiles the Ever Gracious Manservant."

"I smelled it right away."

"What? How I'd nearly pissed myself in fear? You do realize it was hundreds of feet if you'd dropped me when dragging me in?"

"Good to know you were aware of that as you put yourself in that precarious position," Derek snorted. "And no. I smelled your innocence."

"I would have favored the piss," Stiles grumbled as he began sewing again.

Derek rolled his green eyes before scoffing out, "You misunderstand."

"So you're telling me you can smell how a person is? That you could smell I'm really a good person and not some slimy spy?"

"And I can smell your annoyance now at being called 'innocent,'" Derek said with fanged smirk.

"You are insufferable," Stiles grumbled. "I don't even understand why you brought me here."

"Why not?"

"Uh, cause I was born and raised in a city? I only know a handful of words in your language now, and I'm nothing like those in your tribe? I'm not really one of rippling muscles or fangs or even a hairy body," Stiles listed off.

"You have the same honest place of heart."

"Well that just makes everything, doesn't it?"

"It's why I didn't let you drop to that ocean below," Derek said calmly.

Stiles sighed; this conversation was giving him a headache. How was he supposed to react to Derek literally introducing him to his family and expecting him to just integrate without a problem. Sometimes Derek wasn't such a sourwolf. Stiles supposed he could be an optomist. And if Stiles was honest, things were going well. This was the first time since Derek's return, and at least they hadn't murdered him for his murdering of his uncle. Yet they must smelled and known the truth when Peter had visited. That had resulted in him being disowned.

Disowned by his own tribe; that must have been the last straw for his sanity and the last step for Kate to gain her hold on the kingdom.

But truly, Stiles couldn't understand what Derek's motives were for bringing him here. True, he helped Derek, from showing him how to tie the southern-style boots to balancing the budget, but Stiles was replaceable. He was just a boy only his father and Scott and maybe a few others would truly miss.

Here he was, being given the highest honor of a dire wolf for doing his duty. He wasn't even married into this clan, yet they acted as if he was-

Stiles stopped his stitching as he felt his cheeks bloom in red. An honor reserved for leaders and their mates. Mates. _Mates_. What if they did think that he and Derek were- were-

"Stiles. You just stabbed yourself with your needle."

At Derek's voice, he snapped to attention, and did realize he'd impaled himself on the implement. Cursing, he brought it out and sucked away the blood, ignoring how Derek had probably been studying him the entire time.

Really, what was he willing to accomplish with this trip? It's not like he had to impress Stiles (he'd seen Derek shirtless so many times he'd lost count).

"Come, it's time for grooming," Derek ordered as he sat up and motioned for Erica to leave.

The wolf huffed in Stile's face before moving aside on the bed and creating room for Stiles. Making his way over, Stiles gingerly positioned himself behind Derek.

"No, not tonight," Derek said as he twirled his finger, indicating for Stiles to turn around.

"Um, no it's-"

"Stiles."

"Alright," he said before gulping loudly. Turning, he sat still and waited.

He shivered as Derek's rough fingers touched his shoulders, moving to slip off his fox-fur vest that Stiles had grown accustomed to these past few days. Stiles felt oddly stripped as he sat, half-naked, with his back and neck vulnerable to Derek.

Derek started at Stiles' shoulders, first working the muscles (because yes, Stiles may not be ripped like the men of the Hale House, but he had something) before bringing out his claws and scratching at his skin.

In what he knew must have been only minutes, Stiles felt like melted butter as he moved to lie on his stomach and let Derek have his way with him.

Soon he moved to his cropped-cut hair, his claws easily picking through the dark strands.

"I feel so spoiled," Stiles said, remembering how to talk.

"And here I thought I'd finally found a way to shut you up," Derek sighed.

Stiles gave a laugh that sounded like it belonged to a drunkard. Although, he did feel quite drunk on the warmth from Derek's close body, the pelts beneath him, and Erica's sleeping body aside of him.

"I could always just fall asleep," Stiles mumbled.

"Then why don't you do that?" Derek said against his ear, and Stiles nearly giggled at the feeling of Derek's nose rubbing against his neck.

Stiles gave a final sigh before doing just that.

.

They ended up staying the designated ten days. Stiles offered to help with the wolves during birthing, as apparently the men of the tribe were not allowed, and there never were enough women offering to help. Maybe it was the fear of hurting the wolves they so revered, or maybe it was their teeth that seemed to lash out in their annoyance at having to give birth.

Maybe it was humiliating to do something like that, but Stiles liked it. Not in the blood and teeth too close for comfort, but knowing he was being useful. And he knew Derek appreciated it when he was with Erica, telling her calming words while she brought four new, little lives into the world. At least with Stiles the wolf knew she couldn't bite his head off. Although she had tried.

This year marked the birth of thirteen new wolves into the pack, including the one Stiles had chosen. It was a very good year, Derek told him as he surveyed Erica and her pups. The golden wolf looked proud of her children, despite how she had no mate to help her.

The entire tribe gathered together in celebration after Erica, the last of the three, had given birth. She had given birth on the full moon, and it was such a celebration that even outlying wolf-people came. Despite how they usually were split and nomadic, they had collected to honor their dire wolves' births and Derek's visit.

The tribe seemed larger than their truly small numbers then, and Stiles wondered on how they were always the one supplying the kings. Obviously they were loyal and hardworking, and strong to an unhuman degree. It common belief it was from the land they so intimately lived off of, and their strong bonds with the dire wolves. It was the ways of the past, a life almost everyone had discarded for luxury.

Stiles could see it was not gilded or glamorous, but it was still raw with beauty. He, irrationally, hoped this would not be the last time he would see this place and its people.

Yet soon he knew he had to tell Derek it was time for their return, and it was time for the tribe to move on again. They had been at this place too long apparently; they needed to pack up their tents to find a new place to stay for a day before leaving there as well. Life as a nomadic sounded romantic, but too exhausting for Stiles.

Before Stiles knew it, and wanted to leave honestly, he was back on his horse with his pup in his vest. Derek was on a horse too, a woven basket holding Erica's four pups, yelping and squirming inside. The golden wolf trotted at their side, and Derek reached over to run a hand down her back and pull her tail playfully. She responded by nipping at his horse, making it start into a run.

Yet they hadn't gone a mile before Derek made the horse stop. Taking in a deep breath, he let out a howl that seemed to shake Stiles down to his bones. Erica followed next, and then surprisingly Stiles' own.

Derek looked at him expectantly and Stiles sighed.

"You cannot honestly want _me _to howl."

The glare continued; clearly Derek did.

So, hoping he wouldn't embarrass himself too much, Stiles leaned back and let loose what he supposed was a howl. By the look on Derek's face, it was more like a cat being strangled.

It seemed to get the pups in the basket at Derek's lap to attempt howls as well, though. That made Erica wag her tail a few times before setting the pace again.

As Stiles watched the pines whip by and felt his quickly growing wolf nuzzle against his collarbone, he smiled and couldn't help but laugh. Wait till he got back and told his Father and Scott about this trip.

* * *

**TBC...**


End file.
